It was our last supper, Lucy said, sliding a divorce petition across the kitchen table.
Michael, are you even hearing me?
Im listening, love. Ill buy the cottage cheese, no problem.
Its not about the cheese! When was the last time you actually asked about my day?
Lucy stood in the middle of a Tesco, a basket dangling from her arm, her voice echoing louder than the chimes. Shoppers turned. Michael grimaced, embarrassed.
Lucy, lets talk at home. There are people here.
Let them hear! Maybe itll finally get through to you!
What are you on about?
About how you ignore me! I could talk all day and youd just nod and stare at your phone!
Michael exhaled heavily. The argument was looping again. Lately Lucy had become tense, pickeyed, ready to snap at the slightest misstep.
Lucy, Im exhausted at work. I come home wanting peace. Thats normal.
Peace? Youve been at peace for twenty years of marriage!
What are you saying?
Lucy set the basket down on the floor.
You know what? Buy it yourself. Im done.
She turned and walked toward the exit. Michael stared after her, then at the basket, then back at his wife. Should he chase? Should he let the moment cool? He chose the latter, paid for the groceries, and drove home.
Lucy was already in the kitchen, chopping something. Michael dropped the bags onto the table.
Here, I got everything you wanted.
Lucy gave a silent nod, eyes never leaving the cutting board. Her movements were precise, rehearsed.
What are you making? Michael asked.
Dinner.
And what exactly?
Your favourite dishes.
He was taken aback. After a fight, she was preparing his favourite? It was odd; Lucy could usually go a week without cooking.
Wow, so weve made up?
She finally looked up. In her eyes swirled something neither anger nor resentment, but a soft, melancholy tide.
Go relax. Dinner will be ready in an hour.
Michael drifted to the living room, switched on the TV, and caught a Premier League match. He sank into the sofa, remote in hand, but the game blurred as thoughts of Lucy swirled like smoke.
He remembered their first meeting: he was twentythree, she twenty. She worked at the local library, perched behind the desk with her long, honeyblond hair and spectacles. Hed wandered in for a textbook, stared at her, and felt his heart stumble. He courted her with relentless persistenceflowers, notes, waiting outside the library. Shed rebuffed him, saying she was too busy with studies, but he didnt give up. Eventually she said yes.
A year of dating, then a modest wedding in a tiny church, a few hundred pounds spent. They moved in with Michaels parents, saved for a flat. Three years later they bought a onebedroom flat in a council estate on the outskirts of York. It was cramped but theirs, and they were happy.
Children never came; Lucys body simply wouldnt cooperate. They mourned, then made peace, promising each other that they had everything they needed. They worked, saved, took occasional cheap trips, lived a quiet, orderly life.
When had the tide turned? Michael tried to pinpoint it. Perhaps a year ago, when Lucy grew quiet, lost in thought. Hed chalked it up to work stress, gave her space, perhaps too much.
Now the kitchen table was laid out like a restaurant: white linen, candles flickering, his favourite roast chicken, creamy mash, a cherry tart.
Blimey, Michael muttered, halfamused, halfawed. Feels like a fivestar place.
Sit, Lucy gestured to the chair.
He sat, and she plated the food, poured a jug of fruit juice, and sat opposite him, mute.
Why so quiet? he asked, fork hovering.
Eat first. Well talk later.
Her tone prickled his nerves. Lucys face was pale, eyes rimmed with red.
Lucy, whats wrong?
Just eat.
He forced himself to take a bite. The taste was perfect, yet it slid down his throat like cold water. Tension coiled tighter.
Youre not eating? he pressed.
Dont feel like it.
He set his fork down.
Fine, enough. Tell me whats happening.
Lucy rose, slipped into the pantry, and returned with an envelope. She placed it in front of him.
This was our last supper, she whispered.
Michael opened the envelope. Inside lay a neatly typed divorce petition.
His heart dropped a stone. His hands trembled.
Is this a joke?
No. I filed it this morning. This is a copy for you.
Lucy, have you lost your mind?
On the contrary. Ive finally come to my senses.
He leapt up.
What divorce? What are you talking about? Everythings fine!
Lucy gave a bitter smile.
Fine? Michael, weve been strangers for five years now.
What? Strangers?
You dont even see me. You come home, eat, flop on the sofa, go fishing with the lads on the weekend. When was the last time you gave me a compliment? When was the last time we really talked?
We talk every day!
About what? What to buy, whats on TV? Those arent conversations, theyre empty echoes.
Michael sank back, his head spinning.
But I work! I bring in the money! I provide for the family!
Yes, you work. But marriage isnt just a paycheck. I want a husband, not a wageearner who disappears into his own world.
What do you want then?
Lucy sat opposite him.
Attention. Interest. I want you to ask how my day went and actually listen. I want us to go somewhere together. I want you to hug me for no reason at all.
I hug you.
When was the last time?
He thought, really thought, and realised he couldnt remember. A month? Two? None.
You cant remember, Lucy said. Thats why I cant either. We live like flatshare neighbours, polite, familiar, but strangers.
But weve been married twenty years!
Yes. The first ten were good. The last ten I died a little each day, alone in the same bed, the same flat.
Her voice cracked. He saw tears glistening on her cheeks.
Why didnt you say this before?
I did! A thousand times! You never heard! I begged for a holiday together you went fishing. I suggested a movie you wanted the match. I invited you to an exhibition you always had something else.
He fell silent, recalling the countless moments. Hed thought she was just being dramatic, not serious.
I never realised it mattered so much.
Exactly. You didnt because you didnt care. You were comfortable, and you decided I should be too.
Didnt you ever feel ok?
Lucy shook her head.
No. Ive been surviving, hoping things would change, but nothing did. I felt invisible, even when you looked at me.
I see! Of course, I see!
Really? Tell me, what colour is my hair right now?
He blinked. Her hair was dark, shoulderlength.
Dark.
I dyed it three months ago. I was a blonde all my life. You noticed it when your mum asked me, Why the new colour, Lucy? while you were there.
A flush rose to his cheeks. He recalled that odd conversation.
And the dress I bought two weeks ago? Worn three times? No comment whatsoever.
Im hopeless with womens clothes.
Its not the dress! Its that you dont care! I could walk in a sack and youd never notice!
Lucy paced the kitchen.
You know when I realised everything was over? A month ago. We were sitting here, I was telling you about a raise at work, I was thrilled. You just nodded and asked where the remote was.
He didnt remember that conversation at all.
Then I understood I was dead to you. Id become part of the décor, not a person. I existed, and that was enough for you.
Lucy, Im sorry. Truly sorry. I didnt mean it.
I know. Its just habit. Twenty years is a long stretch. Feelings dull, passion fades. Thats normal. But there should still be something attention, care, interest!
There is!
Then why didnt you show it?
He had no answer. Had he ever truly shown love? He loved her, certainly, but hed also grown comfortable. When was the last time he showed it?
I thought you knew.
How? Telepathy?
Relationships need work. Daily work. You cant just marry and then relax.
I get it. Honestly, I get it. Lets start over. Ill change!
Lucys smile was sad.
Its too late. Im fortytwo. I dont want another twenty years of loneliness.
But youre not alone! Im right here!
Physically, yes. Emotionally, youre miles away.
He seized her hand.
Wait. Dont file for divorce. Lets try to fix this. Ill be different. Ill be attentive. Well take a holiday.
Michael, let go.
No! I wont! I love you!
Love? When did you last say it?
His mouth opened and closed. He couldnt recall a single time.
You see? Ive been talking every day, and you answer with silence. Do you know how painful that is?
She released his hand.
Go to bed. Well discuss details tomorrow. Ill stay in the flat; you can move back to your parents or find a new place.
Lucy, wait!
She was already out of the kitchen. Michael sat, staring at his cold plate, the world having tipped over in a single evening.
Sleep eluded him. He lay in the dark, replaying years, searching for the moment hed missed the point where Lucy stopped believing. Perhaps there was no single momentjust a thousand tiny slips: forgotten dates, cancelled plans, halfhearted words that piled up like dust until patience overflowed.
The next morning Lucy dressed for work as usual, ate breakfast, left. Michael watched her go, his throat raw.
Ill really change, he called after her.
She turned, eyes steady.
Not for me. For the next woman. Dont repeat my mistakes.
What mistakes?
This one. I stayed silent when I should have shouted. I endured when I should have left. I waited when I should have acted.
So thats it? Its final?
Yes. Goodbye.
She walked out. Michael lingered in the empty flat, called in sick to work, unable to face anyone. He spent the day wandering rooms, touching photographs of their youth, souvenirs from trips, Lucys books on the shelf. He opened an old wedding album: Lucy in a simple white dress, laughing, him beaming. They had been so naïve, thinking love was enough without watering it like a plant.
He finally wept, the first real tears in years, for himself and for what hed lost.
That evening Lucy returned, found him on the sofa, eyes swollen.
Did you eat anything?
No.
She fetched a bowl of soup from the fridge, heated it, and placed it in front of him.
Eat. You cant starve yourself.
Do you even care?
I care. I want a divorce, but I dont want you to fall ill.
He ate the soup in silence, Lucy watching the street through the window.
Lucy, if I truly change right now, would you?
She shook her head.
No. Its too late. Love is dead.
Ill bring it back! Ill rekindle it!
From ashes nothing grows. You have to let go and move on.
Did you meet someone?
No, but I hope to. I want to feel wanted again.
Michael sat, understanding that words were now useless. He knew Lucys decision was right; hed brought it about.
Within a week he moved back to his parents house. His mother hissed, his father shook his head, but he made no excuses. The divorce was swift; there was little to split. The flat stayed with Lucy; he didnt contest. They met only at the solicitors office, each exchanging formalities like strangers.
Life slipped into a grey routine. He rented a small room in a council house, worked, went fishing, socialised as before, just without Lucy.
One night he saw Lucy on the high street, arminarm with a man, laughing at something hed said. Her face lit up, genuine happiness.
He stopped, heart punching his ribs. The other man gave her the attention, care, and interest Michael had never managed.
Months drifted by. He settled into solitude, eventually realising that he hadnt truly changed; hed simply removed the woman who felt his flaws. He accepted Lucys truth: he wasnt ready to change, too set in his ways.
He enrolled in a psychology course, started attending the theatre, kept a diary, learning to listen for the sake of listening, not just for his turn to speak. Slowly, colour returned to his world, people seemed richer, life more meaningful.
Weeks later, Lucy appeared again, shopping bags in hand. He stopped, greeted her.
Hi. How are you?
Fine. You?
Good enough.
A pause.
Did you end up with that man I was with?
She smiled.
Yes. His names Simon. Hesnice.
Glad for you. Really glad.
She studied him.
Youve changed.
Trying. It took ages, but Im getting there.
Youre doing well.
Its a shame its too late for us.
She shrugged.
Not too late. Just not for me. For someone else. And thats fine.
They said goodbye, and Michael watched her walk away, feeling not pain but gratitude. She had jolted him from the swamp of his complacency, forced him to look honestly at himself.
They would never be together again, but the lesson stuck. If he ever found another, he would cherish, value, and love properly.
Sometimes loss isnt an end, but a starta new, brighter chapter.
